


TENDER IS THE NIGHT

by Anne_Fairchild



Category: Da Vinci's Demons
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 03:28:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20828645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anne_Fairchild/pseuds/Anne_Fairchild
Summary: Before and after Zita must go to Pope Sixtus at his order, Riario does his best to aid and comfort her.





	TENDER IS THE NIGHT

Riario hadn’t dared react more than he already had. The Holy Father could read the merest flicker of emotion in anyone and he was no exception. He’d thought that he’d remained expressionless at his father’s command, but clearly he hadn’t. He could do nothing to prevent it from happening, so now he must be sure it went as easily as possible for Zita.

Knowing his father as he did, he shuddered as his thoughts raced to a place he did not want them to go. Stop, Girólamo, and _think, _for her sake. If her fate wasn’t in his hands, her survival in his household might be.

When he regained his quarters he made to send for her, only to find her at his side a moment later, asking if there was anything he required. She was aware that time spent in private audience with the Holy Father often left him disturbed, and she had developd a sixth sense about it. He asked her to sit and she did so, though she was puzzled by his request.

“Zita - the Holy Father has asked that you..attend him..tonight.” Best to just say it as plainly as he could.

“It will be an honor, my lord.” He thought her voice quavered a little. She looked at him, then looked away.

“Is that how you really feel?”

“How could I say otherwise, my lord?”

“You take my meaning? His Holiness will expect you to..serve him. As a woman serves a man,” he persisted, feeling his face grow hot and hating himself for it.

“I took your meaning, my lord. The summons does not shock me. I speak to others here. I try to learn the ways of this place.”

“Have you..are you a maid, Zita? Have you ever..served a man before?”

“I have not, my lord.” This time he didn’t imagine the unsteadiness in her voice.

“I’m afraid that the Holy Father may not..take that into consideration. He may not be aware - “

“His Holiness knows all, in this place. But I understand you, my lord. It cannot be helped. There is nothing that will prevent it.”

“I’m sorry, Zita. The first time..it should be with someone who cares for you. Someone who values you, so they are gentle. Someone who will give you pleasure also . The Holy Father - “

“Will not be gentle. I understand. You are kind, my lord, to be concerned for me. I thank you for your thoughts. But we cannot change it, can we?”

Zita saw fear for her, sorrow, and anger at his impotence in the situation flicker over Riario’s face in turn. She was afraid, but the knowledge that her lord cared about her, that he did not want her to suffer, warmed her and gave her strength.

“No,” he exhaled sadly, “we cannot. When my evening meal is served, you will come dressed to serve His Holiness, and you will stay here until it is time for you to go to him.”

“My lord?”

“Obey me in this, Zita,” he insisted firmly.

“Yes, my lord.”

When she returned, hours later, he bade her to sit and eat with him. This time she knew better than to protest or question him. She understood he wanted to do something kind for her. The food was rich and delicious, but she couldn’t really relish the meal. A knot of fear was building In her stomach. He urged wine on her, insisting she drink.

“If the Holy Father offers you wine, you must obey,” he advised. “Drink as much as he offers.” She understood this too, feeling both fear and gratitude at his direction. He wanted to spare her, and to help her as much as he was able.

“If it was possible, I would - “ he stammered. Zita’s lord was never at a loss for words. “But the walls have eyes and ears. He would know, and it would be all the more difficult for you, so I cannot..help you in that way. I’m sorry.” He gestured helplessly.

Her eyes, dark and soft, met his.

“I am sorry also, for if I had the power to choose - “

“You mustn’t say such things.”

“Perhaps it is not proper, but my thoughts here -“ Zita put a hand over her heart, “are my own.”

“You must never let him know your feelings,” he warned her, “about anything. You must only endure, and be what he asks for the time he claims you.”

“As you do, my lord?”

“As I try to do. Even so he knows, most of the time,” Riario admitted with a sigh.

“Yet he cannot take our thoughts away.” Still she looked at him.

“Zita….”

“I think it must be time, my lord, for me to attend His Holiness.”

“Yes,” he agreed unwillingly. “You must go. When you return, if you should need anything, you shall have it.”

She rose, silent and graceful. Daring in the moment, she touched his shoulder briefly.

“All will be well, my lord.” And she was gone.

If he took any direct interest in her welfare tonight, spoke to anyone serving in the papal bedchamber, his father would be sure to know. Frustration and sorrow might be his if he was forced to part with her, but the true danger was to Zita. If his father should decide to keep her as some sort of petty revenge or ransom against future orders, as much as he suffered he could be sure she would suffer more.

Fearful for her and feeling infuriatingly powerless, he tried to think of what might be done. Who did she spend her time with when she wasn’t serving him? What did she do with her days when he wasn’t here?

There were a very few of Zita’s countrymen who were also held in servitude at the Vatican. He remembered that she had seemed close to one in particular, an aging laundress called Maryam. There had been times, he thought he remembered her telling him, that she had helped the woman with her work, knowing she was becoming less able. Under the circumstances of tonight, if she sought comfort from a lower servant of her own people it would not invite scrutiny. He sent someone to bring her to him. He had no idea if she spoke or understood any language but her own; he could only hope she did.

Maryam had spent most of her life doing hard physical work, and in middle age it had caught up with her. She appeared before him bone-weary, bent, and fearful.

“Maryam - you know Zita, yes?”

“Yes, lord.” She was rightfully hesitant, and cautious.

“Sit, and rest,” Riario indicated a cushioned stool. She didn’t dare refuse him so she sat, warily.

“You and Zita are friends?”

Maryam considered how to answer.

“She is kind to me - and others. She is good girl. She teaches me your tongue.”

“So, if she needed your help, you would want to help her?”

“Yes lord, if I could.”

He would have to trust her. She was Zita’s only possible comfort.

“Maryam, Zita is with the Holy Father tonight. When she returns to her room, she may be..unwell. It is not seemly that I ask about her, if she should need care. But I want to be assured that there is someone to care for her if she requires it. I want you go to her room - it is just there,” he indicated a room adjacent to his quarters but not precisely within them, “and wait for her. I don’t want her to be alone,” he finished.

She gazed at him in silence, unsure whether his good will could be trusted. She was well aware of his fearsome reputation, yet Zita spoke well of him, telling of his kindness to her. She had a decision to make. She owed Zita, but more than that she was also very fond of her - and this man seemed to care about her even though he knew he should not.

“Lord - Zita spoke to me. I know where she has gone, and why. She was afraid, with reason. I will do as you ask. Zita is my friend.”

“Thank you, Maryam. I am grateful and I know that Zita will be grateful also.” A weight fell from his shoulders at her agreement. “If you need something you may come to ask me. I will be up late. You won’t disturb me.”

She rose slowly, her joints stiff.

“It will be as you say, lord,” she agreed, shuffling toward’s Zita’s room.

Riario could now only wait. It would not be possible for him to sleep until he knew Zita was all right. It might be over shortly or His Holiness might keep her for hours. He hoped for the former and would have to bear the latter if that was the way it was.

He wrote and read for some time until his eyes burned. He undressed down to his nightshirt and robe and lay in the darkness, uncomfortably aware of the beating of his own heart. Somewhat awkwardly, he prayed for Zita.

After that, it was difficult to judge the true passage of time. At a point when he was becoming quite uneasy he at last heard sounds in Zita’s room, and low voices. His heart sped up in worry, but as the voices and the noises continued without any alarm raised to him, his eyes closed in weariness.

“Lord. Lord.” Maryam roused him gently. He sat upright, instantly awake.

“Is she all right?” he asked. Maryam grimaced, then shrugged.

“He was not kind to her, but it could have been worse, lord. In a day or two she will be better. She cannot sleep.” She looked at him with some little boldness at the last words. She could see in his eyes that he wanted to go to her as much as Zita wanted him to come, though neither of them would admit it.

“Lord - no one will know but me, and I will say nothing.”

Fear of discovery and its danger for Zita warred with his desire to see her with his own eyes. He was relieved that she was not badly injured. He shuddered at thoughts of some of his father’s previous diversions and what had become of them. He sent up a quick prayer of thanks.

“Do not let me spend too much time there, Maryam. Promise me - no more than an hour and I must again be in my own bed.”

“Yes, lord.” She bowed her head.

He rose and took a lamp with him into Zita’s room. She lay in the middle of the bed, Maryam having undressed her, washed her and tended to her, and then helped her to put on her night robes. She watched him approach, the candlelight reflected in her eyes.

He sat carefully on the edge of the bed, trying not to disturb her.

“I’m sorry,” he told her.

“I know. Thank you for Maryam.” Her voice was subdued.

“I wanted to help you, but I had to be careful.”

“I know.” She flexed her fingers in an attempt to touch his hand; he bent and kissed the fingers softly.

“Are you in much pain?”

“Not so very much, my lord. Maryam says it will pass soon enough.”

“You shouldn’t have had to-“

Her fingers twined lightly with his.

“You said you could not..join with me. But could you show me..what he did not? The part he did not care about?” she whispered. Her misery made her bold, and reckless. She thought perhaps he would refuse, but she had nothing to lose. “So I will know it?”

Riario closed his eyes. How could he deny her, after what she had suffered? Zita had been there to comfort and support him many times, in her quiet way. Why should he not do the same for her if he could?

He lay down carefully and moved close behind her, spooning himself around her and snugging her back against him gently, his arm across her body. He felt as well as heard her deep sigh.

Zita had dreamed of being in her lord’s arms, but never believed it would actually happen. To have him, solid and warm, holding her, she would suffer His Holiness without a word of protest. He was strong and fierce, but he could also be gentle and caring, as he was now. She would remember the scent and feel of him forever, even when she was not with him.

Slowly, she turned in his embrace, burrowing her face in his neck. He stroked her hair, and cupped her jaw gently in his palm. She shivered in pleasure, barely restraining herself from kissing that palm. He stroked down her neck and over her shoulder in a gentle caress. She wanted to look into his eyes but she was too close, and she wanted more to _feel him - _the gentle warmth of him, the sweetness of his touch.

To his caresses, he added soft kisses to her face and neck and was rewarded with little moans of happiness. He shifted, and his hand brushed against her breast.

“My lord,” she breathed against his neck.“Touch me,” she whispered.

“Zita - “

“My lord Girólamo,” she begged, gently drawing his head down, her fingers in his hair. “This time may be all I have of you.”

He had long cared about her, and for her. He wasn’t at all sure, in the moment, exactly what his feelings were or what he thought he was doing, but he suddenly wanted her to have the pleasure his father had denied her while claiming her virginity as some cruel prize.

It would be sadly easy to take advantage of her desire for him. He was starting to realize that she saw him through romantic eyes, and he didn’t want to falsely encourage that. Zita, however, had always had a mind of her own and she could be very determined. He decided to let her guide him tonight. He would do as she wished.

He kissed her mouth. She moaned against him and unconsciously parted her lips in response - to his scent, and the feel of the taut body she longed to hold onto. She learned that there were kisses, and there were kisses. This had nothing to do with what the Holy Father had done. His mouth moved slowly, wetly, down her neck, kissing her flesh, licking, tasting her. She loosened her robe, and dared to place his hand inside it.

“May we not see each other as God made us?” she asked softly, placing a palm on his bare chest, where his robe had slipped.

He made one last attempt to dissuade her.

“Zita, it’s wrong that you had no choice, but I may also do wrong if I take advantage of your distress.”

He was shocked by her rather harsh laugh.

“It is wrong that the Holy Father gave me no choice. It is wrong for you to give me what I desire, what I _ask _of you. And it is also wrong when I make a free choice. I do not care if it is wrong! I want your comfort, my lord. I want it in all the ways it may be given,” she begged, angry and sad. “Would you rather I close my eyes and see _him _coming to possess me?”

He was silenced by her outburst. He’d fought with his conscience and tried to obey it, but he’d observed that Zita was often right by instinct. She wanted and needed his genuine affection. She wanted him to help erase the memory of sex as helpless possession. She wanted _him_, as no one ever had. What man would not soften at that?

He bowed his head, and reached to untie her nightdress. He slipped it from her shoulders and it fell to her waist. He dared to look at her.

Black as night her skin, soft and scented by rosewater and her own exotic smell. That her innocent body had been corrupted and abused by his father with no thought at all sickened Riario. He simply wanted to give her the pleasure she’d been denied, and she’d made it very plain that it was what she wanted too, only nothing at all about tonight was simple.

He closed his eyes when she reached out to push his own robe away. A little jolt of pleasure coursed through him at the heat of her touch.

“My lord is very beautiful,” she whispered, pressing soft kisses to his throat and chest. 

The words touched Riario. Zita was honest, and always spoke the truth as she saw it. To someone who was more often than not full of doubt and self-loathing, to hear such a thing was a gift.

Zita gasped and groaned when he caressed her breast. She felt sudden heat in the place where the Holy Father had caused her pain. How strange that such pleasure as she felt now came from that same place. Her lord’s tongue and fingertip flicked over her nipple, teasing, and the pleasure grew stronger. She wanted more of this feeling he was making in her with his clever mouth. She could - she would - dream of this, she knew. But here, now, was not a dream but real. It was gentle and tender, as she had always known her lord could be.

He took her breast into his mouth, nuzzling and sucking, as his hand stroked her side and the curve of her hip. The yearning inside her continued to grow, sharper and wilder, as his mouth did things to her that she wished would go on forever. He moved down her body, kissing and licking softly. He moved his mouth over her belly and her thighs. When he reached her sex he placed his mouth upon it. His tongue opened her.

He was so gentle and took such care not to hurt her. She had to bite her own tongue to keep from crying aloud at the sensation. She felt his beard, not wiry but soft, the unexpected softness arousing her more. Zita felt in her heart that her lord was loving her, whether he could or would express it any other way. His hands and mouth upon her were coaxing something new from her, something she had never felt before. It was a little frightening, but wonderful too. It spiraled out from her, out of control, until there was an unbearable sharp joy, a shower of stars surrounding her and she cried out, clasping him to her, groaning as waves of bright pleasure washed over her.

Riario did not think he was a very imaginative or skillfull lover; he’d never needed to be. Any woman he’d been with had known very well it was in their interest to have him believe he was a great lover, but he’d always been rather disgusted at their unbelievable responses. They attributed to him a male ego that he did not have about sex. In contrast, Zita’s relatively quiet but very genuine expression of unexpected, unknown pleasure pleased him, because he knew he had truly pleased her.

It was a most incredible thing her lord had given her. Her insides felt warm and..satisfied. It was the only word she could think of which expressed her feelings. There was still pain, but this new contentment was nearly its equal. He had done much to mute her frightening time with the Holy Father.

He pulled her close into his arms now, kissing her hair and face, caressing her back. She felt boneless, as if she could not move for anything. Certainly she didn’t want to move. She felt secure and protected from all possible harm in her lord’s arms. She was even a little sleepy.

It was a few minutes later that Maryam entered, calling out to wake him. He ignored her twice. No matter what he’d told her, he was not going to leave Zita now. He could not leave her; he didn’t _want _to leave her. He hissed a low “At first light” and Maryam left, not particularly surprised. That he had feelings for Zita had been clear to her at his request that she should care for the girl, from his face and from his hesitant, awkward speech.

No amount of attempt at secrecy would keep his father from finding out eventually that he cared far more for Zita than he should. If she was threatened with serious harm, he didn’t know what he would do.

All the same, he realized that it would take no effort on Zita’s part for him to bring her into his bed. Half the Vatican probably thought she’d been serving him that way since she was given to him as scarcely more than a girl. She was warm and kind and she knew him better than anyone. She knew what he needed and what pleased him out of bed, so he had no doubt that she would quickly learn what pleased him in bed as well, even if it had less to do with sex than with simple comfort. There was little enough love of any kind, or kindness or caring, in either of their lives. Would it be so wrong if they took solace in each other? It was asking for trouble, but he would do what he could to prepare against that.

The recognition might unsettle him, but it also gave him peace, as if some sort of secret was out, even if it was only between him, Zita and Maryam for now. He would have to get Maryam out of the laundry somehow, to show their gratitude.

“My lord.” It came as a purr, and was not a question. She reached out and coaxed him closer to her, cradling his head to her breast. Her fingers wove softly through his hair, soothing. She knew when and what he needed, whether it was food and drink, sleep, or comfort. In her arms he knew that whatever was wrong would be right again, even if only for an hour or two. But he owed it to her to speak once more.

“Zita - you should not think - you know I do not - cannot - love you as a man loves a woman he takes to wife. My feelings for you are different. You must understand.”

“My lord, it does not matter. Servant, lover, sister, mother - the feelings are all one, and they are more honest than those between some men and their wives - which may be little feeling at all. I will be whatever you need and want me to be. I do not expect that you will feel about me any other way,” she murmured. “You have given me more than I have any right to desire.”

“In another life - “

“In another life you would not need me. I am content with this life.”

“It isn’t fair to you.”

“Life is not always fair, my lord, but it can be good all the same. I do not see how mine could be better.”

“There is likely to be trouble and pain for both of us. What can I say to discourage you?”

“Nothing, my lord,” she laughed, laying her cheek against his hair.

He did not push her any more after that; he did not want to. As it had been so often in the past, she comforted him still, and he was through denying that she brought him peace and that he wanted her comfort. Zita, he thought, was getting the bad end of the bargain.

She of course did not agree. As she drifted into sleep, Zita marveled that what had begun as one of the worst nights of her life had ended as the best.


End file.
